


Adventures in OSHA Non-Compliance: Horny Wendy’s Crimes

by RyeBread



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fingering, Gross Misuse of a Frost Machine, M/M, OSHA Non-Compliant Sex, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Temperature Play, They're not safe with the frosty machine but by god they’re safe with their sex, Wendy’s AU, condom use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: I wish I didn’t but I did.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 35
Kudos: 65





	Adventures in OSHA Non-Compliance: Horny Wendy’s Crimes

**Author's Note:**

> If we’re being logical here, this is Sam’s fault for agreeing to a Wendy’s Sponsorship.

It’s not the dumbest idea they’ve ever had, but it is a close second to the time they had successfully sixty-nined in the back of a limousine. Breaking into a Wendy’s to fuck might seem dumber, but it should be noted that the limo belonged to a suspected mafia boss and it was eleven o’clock in the morning in a hotel parking garage. Still, Fjord is a little drunk and a lot horny and Caleb is incredibly hot when he’s wearing a suit.

“They just left the back door open?” Caleb asks, flushed in the heat of the summer evening, especially in the layered suit that Fjord wants paradoxically on his body and torn apart.

Fjord takes Caleb by the arm and pulls him into the dark kitchen, shoving the door open with his ass as he goes. “So it would appear.”

“That is certainly a health and safety violation," Caleb mutters as he allows Fjord to guide him through the cluttered mess of fryers and haphazardly discarded trash bags. "OSHA would have a field day.”

“I was thinking we could have some of the fun as a result of their oversight, actually," Fjord says, impatiently tugging on Caleb's lapels. "Is it wrong that day-old fry grease is turning me on?”

Caleb laughs, almost blind in the gloom, and starts unbuttoning his jacket, "I am positive this whole situation is wrong in every legal, ethical, and moral sense of the word."

Fjord pushes Caleb's jacket open and shoves his nose against his throat, nuzzling against him and murmuring into his skin, "I'm going to fuck you harder than Wendy's fucked its farmers by refusing to sign the Fair Food Program."

Caleb leans back against the cold griddle, tugging at his tie as Fjord makes it intentionally difficult by pressing biting kisses just under his ear. "Fjord, you're, ah, just making this--"

"Harder?" Fjord guesses, palming Caleb's groin.

He groans in frustration, bucking into Fjord's touch. "We can't have long before someone comes to open," he grits out. "We should hurry this up."

Damn Wendy's and their unrealistic labor standards and the capitalist greed resulting in the absolute bare minimum off-hours operational standards. Damn them to hell. "All right," Fjord relents, stepping back far enough for Caleb to slip the tie and tuck it into his pants pocket. He keeps his hands ghosting over Caleb's sides as he undoes the top button of his dress shirt, then, slowly, the next; and Fjord finally notices the wicked grin Caleb's wearing as he pretends to struggle with the third. "Oh you bastard."

Caleb laughs low in his throat and finishes the buttons in rapid succession, grinding against Fjord’s hand. His chuckle becomes a groan when Fjord slips his hands beneath his undershirt, sliding up his stomach. The gentle pressure of Fjord’s push has him on his elbows in half-cleaned burger slurry, but Fjord’s next move is to pop the button on his pants, so the cleaning bill is just about the farthest thing from his mind.

Fjord has always had something of an oral fixation, so who is Caleb to deny him full access to his dick. Without bothering to pull his pants down further than Caleb’s balls, Fjord takes him into his mouth. The heat and wetness has Caleb pushing his hips forward, feeling the push of Fjord’s tongue against the underside of his cock. He would be enjoying it more if the cold grease wasn’t seeping through his jacket, but the feeling and the noise of Fjord’s enjoyment is enough of a distraction that he hesitates to complain until Fjord pulls off him, wiping his mouth and chin on his sleeve. “Everything alright up there, Caleb? You’re being awful stiff.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” Caleb asks, then winces when Fjord gives the tip of his cock a light flick. “Ow! Scheißer, why?”

“What’s wrong?” Fjord asks, rolling his eyes.

“Apart from where you struck my cock at speed? We’re standing in days old—if we’re lucky—fast food grime.”

Fjord kisses his dick in apology, “Is that all?”

“We could also be walked in on at any moment, so pardon my anxiety,” Caleb snaps, though he trails off, shoulders hunching as Fjord starts stroking him off. “Gods, Fjord…”

“We could hurry this up,” Fjord offers, twisting his wrist as he goes, thumbing the slit of Caleb’s cock, spreading the precum along the head. “I don’t mind just getting you off here and now, then we skedaddle.”

Caleb keens, teeth clenched as he strains to keep himself upright, gritting out, “You, ah, should get off, too.”

“I don’t mind,” Fjord says, nonchalantly, still kneeling close enough for Caleb to feel his breath against his groin.

Caleb grabs Fjord’s wrist to stop him, though it is literally painful, and whispers, “There are condoms in my wallet.”

“So a quick blow or yank is too risky, but a fuck is still on the table?”

“Not the table, but perhaps a prep station,” Caleb says. 

Fjord chuffs a laugh, standing. “Could you-?”

“We’re already breaking several laws both moral and legal—I can forgive a request for misuse of the arcane for the purposes of self-lubrication,” Caleb says, digging for his wallet out of a pocket that’s doing its best to resist him. 

“If you’d rather I use hydrogenated vegetable oil, I could,” Fjord says, graciously accepting the bright green packet Caleb eventually produces. 

Caleb grunts, “Apart from the fact that it would defeat the purpose of a condom, I don’t relish the idea of needing to explain to Jester how I got a yeast infection in my arse.”

“Fine fine,” Fjord says.

—-

"Do you think they keep this on?" Fjord asks, keeping steady tempo while conversing, which Caleb would be more impressed with were he not doing most of the work keeping himself upright against the machine. His arms are a tangled mess, his elbow almost-but-not-quite hyperextended to keep from being knocked repeatedly against the steel and aluminum casing.

"Keep what on?" Caleb asks, panting.  
Rather than clarify, Fjord just reaches over, his lean creating an angle with the thrust that has Caleb shouting behind clenched teeth. There's a rumble as Fjord pulls a level down, an unholy whirring, then a surprised ‘Oh!’

Caleb has his eyes screwed shut, so the sudden spatter of cold and wet on his forearm catches him completely by surprise, but he manages to keep his grip by inches and thereby preventing Fjord from commiting negligent manslaughter. He snaps his eyes open, glaring at Fjord. "Is that ice cream you have dumped on my arm?"

Fjord at least has the decency to look embarassed, pausing in his incessant pounding to help Caleb stabilize his position. "In the loosest sense of the word, yes, that's ice cream. A, ah, Frosty."

“So, you thought now was the time to test if it was on?”

“Look,” Fjord says, shifting to get a better grip on Caleb’s hips before thrusting back into him in one slow push, “I have extremely poor impulse control and you know that.”

“You are going to kill me someday,” Caleb groans, falling back into the rhythm.

Just as Caleb starts to close his eyes again, focusing on keeping his trembling arms in place, he feels Fjord thrust into him, hard, then stop. “Hey, Cay?”

Caleb opens one eye, “What?”

“Okay, so I know we just established poor impulse control, but I’m asking if you’ll trust me.”

Caleb pulls in a breath through his nose, back arched, covered in sweat, the smell of fries and underused cleaning supplies in the air. Whatever Fjord wants to try, it cannot possibly make the situation any more bizarre. “Don’t drop me,” Caleb says, as close to a yes as he intends to give.

Fjord reaches up to the top of the machine, pulling down a paper cup. Caleb follows his hand as he moves to fill it with chocolate pseudo-ice cream, the entire machine shaking in the process. “Okay, so.”

“If you wanted an ice cream break you could have-” Fjord pours a dollop of it onto Caleb’s stomach. To say he screams would be comparing it to a human noise. His stomach tenses, he almost lets go with his arms, and his legs tighten like a vice around Fjord’s waist.

Fjord leans down to lick it off, the cold of the cream melting into the heat of Fjord’s tongue. The back of Caleb’s brain is still ranting about the sticky mess that he’s going to have to clean up, but that’s par for the course with half of his and Fjord’s sexual activities. The next splash hits a nipple, followed by the swipe of warmth. Caleb’s ready to bite through his lip and tear the frame off the shoddily made, outsourced machinery he’s clinging to. His dick has never been harder in his life. Fjord releases his hip with one hand to play with Caleb’s other nipple, circling it with the edge of his nail, flicking the nub. Caleb whines, hooking his ankle over Fjord’s ass to encourage him to move again, the sensations building even as his mind zeroes in on the points of pleasure that drown out all the misgivings he has on the location. He feels Fjord’s movements getting more erratic, the disjointed humping a tell-tale sign he’s trying to hold himself off as long as he can. Caleb watches Fjord take a sip from the cup then toss it aside before taking Caleb’s mouth in a kiss. It’s disgusting, really, the overly sweet taste of the Frosty cloying to his tongue, but the shock of cold to his mouth, the fact that it’s Fjord; it’s got something of an appeal in there. 

“You can,” Caleb gasps, “ah, you can cum.”

“Don’t,” Fjord mumbles, forehead against Caleb’s, “don’t want to yet.”

“It’s fine. Just.” Caleb sighs, teeth clenched. “Please, Fjord.”

Fjord pushes home, his cock twitching in Caleb’s ass as he fills the condom. He thrusts in a few more times, shaking with it before he slowly pulls out. Caleb drops his legs to the floor, trying to pull himself into a standing position as Fjord peels the condom off and ties it into a knot. They’re both still rock hard, Fjord gingerly holding the base of his cock as he looks about for a trash can. Caleb starts to stroke himself off, leaning against the prep station. It’s not going to take long, not like this. Fjord notices him just as he finds the bin, tossing the prophylactic away and darting back over to Caleb, “Hey, who said you had to do the fun part alone?” 

“Just let me,” Caleb says, even as he feels Fjord’s hand close over his, letting him set the pace. 

“I trimmed my nails for you tonight, you know,” Fjord says, mouth at Caleb’s ear. He can feel Fjord’s still hard and wet cock up against his thigh, Fjord’s free hand creeping over the slope of his ass. “You need some help?”

“Ja,” Caleb mutters, feeling Fjord’s fingers slip into him easily, just two. They tease at his entrance, dipping in just enough the Caleb can feel a stretch. He’s not going to last. His fingers push in further, sliding deep with the smooth glide of his conjured grease. Caleb gasps, burying his face in Fjord’s shoulders, rocking into his grip. Fjord starts to jerk him faster, fingers lazily prodding and sliding against his insides, exploring his stretched hole. “Fjord…”

“I think this is my favorite part,” Fjord mutters. “You loose from a good fuck, taking my fingers like nothing. Do you have any idea how hot you are in here?”

Caleb cums, Fjord’s fingers flexing against the clench of Caleb’s walls, his other hand catching his seed. After a moment of gasping, Caleb takes one long, fortifying breath. “You know I have fingered myself, yes?”

Fjord sighs, pushing away a little. “It’s called setting a mood, Caleb.”

“Well I call this breaking and entering,” he says, finally with enough wits about him to gesture at the soiled scene around them. “And also public indecency and a host of health and safety violations.”

“Sometimes I wish you had an afterglow,” Fjord grumbles, hoisting his pants back up and fixing his belt. 

Caleb shakes his head, muttering an incantation and tracing sigils in the air. All sign of their intrusion, as well as quite possibly months worth of layered grease, begins to evaporate at his gesture while Fjord checks the exit. He’s finished with the prep station, the frosty machine, and the griddletop when Fjord hurries back to him. Caleb snaps his fingers and the floors begin the scrubbing process, one cubic foot at a time, “Are we clear?”

“Yeah, as soon as you find your pants,” Fjord says, walking around him to check the front end of the store. Caleb looks down, realizing he’s without them. Keen Mind don’t fail him now. He took them off somewhere between the prep station where Fjord fingered him the first time and the Frosty machine. So that means… Caleb pulls them out from under the fryer then steps into them, shoes and all. It was a process taking them off with his shoes on, getting them on requires magic even he hasn’t mastered yet, so he’s got both shoes in hand and one pant leg on when Fjord shoves through the door, panic written across his face, gingerly closing it behind him. “Fuck.”

Caleb hurriedly yanks his other leg into the pants and hauls them up over his ass, holding the shoes haphazardly as he starts toward the rear exit, Fjord swearing quietly as they push out into the back alley. The door shuts a little too loudly behind them, but they’re home free, nobody the wiser. They make it into the street, Caleb pulling his shoe on, Fjord laughing too hard to help. “I’m glad you find this so funny,” Caleb snaps, kicking his heel into the shoe. “That was too close.”

“We got away with it,” Fjord reminds him, kissing the top of his head. 

Caleb grumbles, pulling his phone out of his pocket to request a Lyft. “True enough.”

Fjord slides his hand down Caleb’s back, “You forgot to tuck your shirt back in. Awfully indecent.”

Caleb shakes his head, feeling Fjord’s returning interest pressing into his leg, “You’re insatiable.”

“Mm, but you like it,” he says, hand slipping past the waistband of Caleb’s pants under the pretense of tucking his shirt. He cops a feel, squeezing Caleb’s cheek, then freezes. “Uh, Caleb?”

“Yes?”

“Were you always going commando?”

**Author's Note:**

> Next stop: Misadventures on the Amazon Offices Tour


End file.
